Interlude
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'Bad Day At Black Rock', 3x3. Explicit Wincest.


**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

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Dean is _fuming_. As _if_ that horrible British bitch stole the lottery tickets. There was an unbelievable amount of money in them, enough that he and Sam wouldn't have to hustle pool or steal credit cards for at least a couple of years, and Dean can't honestly remember the last time he was this pissed off. And Sam seems to find the whole thing amusing and that just pisses Dean off even more.

"It's not like it was money you actually earned," Sam points out, and Dean glares at him.

"Y'know, given that I'm the one who's gonna have to dig that bullet outta your arm once we find a motel, maybe it'd be in your best interests to stay on my good side right now," he mutters angrily. He briefly considers making the stupid kid patch himself up for being an asshole about it.

By the time he finds them a motel room far enough away that hopefully that crazy guy who tracked Sam down won't find them again, Dean's anger has let up a little. He's still going to kick that bitch's ass if they ever see her again, but at least he's lost the urge to take it out on Sammy. He parks Sam on the edge of the bed and pulls the first aid kit out of his bag. He helps Sam out of his blood-stained shirt, wincing apologetically when Sam hisses in pain, and pours a shot of cheap whiskey over the wound to wash the blood away so he can survey the damage. It isn't nearly as bad as Dean was expecting, so that's something.

"Huh. Looks like the bitch _can_ aim. Thing barely touched you."

"Tell that to how much it hurts," Sam grumbles.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'. Could'a been a lot worse."

"So we'll send her a muffin basket." Sam grabs the bottle of whiskey with his free hand and takes a swig from it, making a face as he swallows. "Man, that's disgusting."

"Most pretty little girls don't like whiskey," Dean says with a grin, and Sam glares at him.

"You're hilarious. Can you just patch me up so we can get on with _not_ having sex?"

Dean fully picks up on the jab but he ignores it for now. Sam's right – between the deal and everything with Lisa and Sam's new demon friend and Dean being worried Sam came back different, it's been a long time since they've done anything. Dean feels it too, like withdrawal from cigarettes or something, but he pushes it aside for the moment. He gets out the needle and thread and concentrates on stitching Sam's skin back together. Sam grunts a few times but Dean works as quickly as he can and he's done in only a couple of minutes. Then he spreads some Polysporin over the sutures and covers them with some gauze and surgical tape.

"Congratulations. We won't have to amputate."

"Thanks." Sam stands up and doesn't say anything else. He throws the ruined shirt into the trash and roots around in his bag for another one, pulling it on gingerly and then locating the bottle again for another long drag of the dark brown alcohol.

For a moment, Dean considers just going to bed. He doesn't like that things aren't right between him and Sam right now but, since he's not sure how to fix it, his first instinct is to keep on ignoring it. But doing that only ever makes things worse, so instead he moves in front of Sam, tilts his head up and kisses him.

"What's that for?" Sam asks quietly, and Dean shrugs.

"Not for anything. Just wanted to."

"Oh." Sam frowns down at him for a moment, searching his eyes, but then he seems to understand and he slides his uninjured arm around Dean's waist and pulls him in for another searing kiss. Instantly their lips slide together with as much intensity as if they'd been at this for an hour already. Dean doesn't have the patience to slowly work up to it; he wants Sam and he wants him now. He's getting pretty tired of so many things getting in between them lately. There are so many things hanging over his head and it's horrible, feeling like this all the time; it's completely exhausting and sometimes Dean isn't sure how much longer he'll be able to keep playing it off like he couldn't care less about being headed for eternal Hellfire. But right now, the only thing he wants in the world, the only thing he can even _think_ about, is getting Sam the way he desperately needs him. He needs to feel Sam's strong muscles moving under his hands, he needs to feel all that soft skin, he needs to kiss Sam until they're both dizzy and lose himself in him.

Dean kisses him like he's dying for it – in a way, he is – and Sam kisses back just as ferociously. He backs Dean up against the wall, Dean bumping into it with a thud, and then presses his body along Dean's. He sucks greedily at Dean's lips, slipping his tongue into Dean's mouth and letting them play together. Dean moans a little and nudges his leg between Sam's so he can press his thigh up against the quickly hardening bulge in Sam's jeans. It should probably be alarming how quickly they can switch from blood and stitches and being annoyed with each other to this passionate, fervent assault on each other's mouths. It probably doesn't say anything good about either of their psyches that their on/off switches are so abrupt. But Dean doesn't have the capacity or the inclination to care about that right now. He's got Sam in his arms, against his lips, under his skin; and that's all that matters. Dean sucks Sam's bottom lip into his mouth and tugs at it with his teeth and Sam lets out a small whine in the back of his throat; it gets louder when Dean rocks harder up into him and their crotches rub together.

Sam was so much the epitome of _little brother_ on this one. Whiny and pouty and everything, and Dean even got to swoop in at the end and save him, shining-armor style, and Dean really enjoyed that part. He enjoyed it even more since Sam was obviously annoyed about having to _be_ saved. But Dean doesn't get to be the big brother all that often anymore and he always takes the opportunities when they come.

It's intoxicating, _Sam_ is completely intoxicating. His scent and the heat from his body, the way he moves against Dean, the feel of him under his hands – skin so soft and almost delicate where Dean pets along the fine hairs on the back of Sam's neck. Dean's so caught up in him that it makes his head spin, although that could also be from a sudden lack of blood as it all rushes south. Dean delves in deeper, tasting every inch of Sam's mouth his tongue can reach, and Sam pushes his hands up under Dean's shirt and presses a palm like a hot-plates into Dean's back. They've only been at it for a few minutes but Sam's breathing is already labored and Dean _loves_ that – loves the feeling of Sam's warm breath against his lips, loves the sound of Sam hot and needy and keyed up, all for him.

It's stupid and girly, but kissing might actually be Dean's favorite part of being with Sam. Everything else is amazing, a hundred times better than the best Dean's ever had with anyone else, but when they're like this – pressed together completely, hands grabby and exploring and sucking at each other's lips like they'll starve if they don't – that's when Dean feels the most connected to his brother. It's like they're sharing their souls. It hits Dean particularly hard, like it still does sometimes even after all their years together, how endlessly, hopelessly, dangerously in love he is with the man in his arms. If he was a chick, this would be the part where he'd swoon or faint or whatever the hell it is girls do. But he's not, so he pulls away from Sam with a loud smack as their mouths separate and pulls him over to the bed.

Sam hisses again, and Dean looks up in surprise. He realizes after a second that he'd pulled on Sam's bad arm – he'd completely forgotten up until this moment that Sam got shot less than an hour ago.

"Shit, sorry," Dean says quickly. "I forgot. You okay?"

"Yeah." Sam takes a deep breath and then raises and lowers his wounded shoulder tentatively, testing out whether or not it's going to hurt too much to move it. "Guess we should give it a little more time to heal before we …"

"Have crazy, violent, dominatrix sex?" Dean supplies with a grin when Sam trails off.

Sam both snickers and tries not to at the same time, resulting in a funny little cough-snort that makes Dean laugh. "Somethin' like that."

He slides his arms back around Dean's waist and rests his chin on the top of Dean's head; Dean shuffles in closer and tucks himself up against Sam's chest, turning his head into Sam's neck. He can feel Sam's heartbeat, slow and steady, underneath his cheek.

"Been missin' you," he says softly.

"You're just horny," Sam jokes.

"No, I – well. Okay, yes, that," Dean relents, grinning stupidly in spite of himself. "But not _just_ that."

"Me too," Sam murmurs. He doesn't say anything else for a few long minutes; he just kisses Dean's temple once and then rubs one hand up and down Dean's back, warm and gentle and molasses-slow, like he's not even fully aware he's doing it. It's funny; it isn't very often that Dean's the one being held, even though Sam's a lot bigger than he is. Sometimes he hates it. Sometimes it makes him feel like he doesn't belong in his own skin, like he's the _kept_ one in the relationship instead of the provider. But other times, like now, he loves it. Loves that Sam's the only one in the world who knows all Dean's weaknesses, every single chink in his armor, and still loves him anyway. Dean's never let anyone else know him as well as Sam does, because he's always worried it would send them running for the hills. Sam's always been the only one who gets to have all of Dean.

When Sam finally speaks again, his voice is quiet and tentative, almost cautious. "Hey, um … you still wanna?"

Dean makes a derisive noise in his throat. "Stupid question."

Sam laughs nervously. "Yeah. Okay."

"Why?" Dean pushes when Sam doesn't continue right away.

"I, um. I have an idea."

Dean lifts his head up so he can look Sam in the eye – his brother is a little flushed but he grins confidently and pecks a quick kiss to Dean's lips. He keeps one arm around Dean's waist and leads him the few steps to the bed. Then Sam undresses them, not hurriedly but not exactly taking his time either, stripping Dean and then himself systematically of shirts and undershirts and jeans and socks until they're down to just their boxers.

He pauses, for just a moment, but it's enough time to take in the addicting sight of a mostly-naked Sam; his perfectly sculpted chest, that amazing v-cut of muscle leading down into his underwear, the way his tantalizing caramel skin shimmers with a barely-there sheen of sweat. Dean's whole mouth fills with saliva just from looking at him. Sam steps towards him and kisses him swiftly, holding Dean's face in his hand and swirling his tongue around Dean's until he's achingly hard again. Dean cups Sam's hips in his hands, running his thumbs over the ridges of muscle, all-but holding on for dear life as Sam kisses him breathless. Then Sam slides down to his knees – Dean takes a second to soak up _that_ ridiculously hot visual – and then he's nudging against Dean's hard cock with his nose, breathing hot breaths on it that Dean feels even through the cotton of his shorts. Sam mouths along the underside of it, getting the fabric all sticky-wet and sending shivers up Dean's spine. He grips Sam's shoulder, careful to make sure it's the uninjured one, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise but if he doesn't Dean's worried his knees would give out.

"Shit, Sammy," he mumbles, his words tumbling into a long moan when Sam hand cups him and squeezes gently. "Get on with that genius plan of yours, would ya?"

Sam ignores him for a minute, still sucking at the head of Dean's cock through the soaked cotton and cupping his balls, rolling them in his fingers and _damn_, Dean loves it when Sam does that. He sways a little on his feet, holding on to a handful of Sam's hair to keep himself upright. Sam doesn't torture him for long, though, he gets back up to his feet and then he's kissing Dean again before Dean's aroused and sluggish brain can even figure out what's happening. Then he guides Dean towards the bed, pushing Dean gently down onto the mattress and pulling Dean's boxers off as he lies down. Dean gets comfortable, stretched out with his head on the pillows, and Sam wiggles out of his own underwear and crawls slowly up Dean's body on his hands and knees, stopping in a few spots that make Dean's skin explode in goosebumps – dragging his teeth over Dean's hip-bone, sucking at a nipple, smearing messy kisses into the hollow of his throat. By the time he gets back to Dean's mouth, Dean's so hard it's painful and he grabs Sam's face and pulls him down for a brutal kiss, getting lost in it until Sam pulls back with a ragged gasp.

"Fuck, I missed you so much," he breathes, barely pausing for a second before he starts licking along Dean's jaw-line.

Dean sighs happily, letting his hands trace down Sam's back, blunt nails digging into the firm muscle. "What are we doing?"

"I – uh," Sam laughs nervously, kissing the patch of skin under Dean's ear. "I thought I could suck you off, while, you know, you … do me."

Dean groans loudly at the parade of pornographic images that burst to life behind his eyelids. "Oh, _fuck_, yeah."

He pushes at Sam's good shoulder, muttering, "C'mon," and trying to get his stupid brother to stop kissing his neck because Dean needs this to happen and it needs to happen now. He's so turned on he's surprised he's still conscious, but Sam is not moving and it's suddenly the most frustrating thing _ever_.

"So that's a yes?" Sam whispers seductively, chuckling darkly into Dean's ear and making him shiver.

"That's a 'you better get this show on the road right the fuck now 'cause we're gonna be lucky if I last five minutes'," Dean growls, shoving at his brother and thankfully this time he complies, shifting off Dean and lying down beside him on his back. Dean sits up and turns himself around on the mattress, getting on top of Sam, one knee on either side of Sam's head and his hands bracketed around Sam's hips.

It's … there pretty much aren't words, so Dean doesn't even really try. Sam's cock is flushed and hard and dripping, right in Dean's face; it's so hot he's quite sure adequately descriptive words don't even exist. Not in English, anyway. The tip is smeared with milky pre-come and it's just _begging_ Dean to take it into his mouth so he does, sealing his lips around the crown and sucking. He can feel Sam doing the same even though he can't see it; he can feel Sam's lips brushing gently against the tip of Dean's cock, smearing around the leaking fluid and brushing his fingers lightly over the underside. It's good, it's gentle and loving and it makes Dean feel warm all over, but he's not interested in this slow torture right now. Not tonight, tonight Dean needs it to be fast and dirty. He just needs to come and make Sam come so he can be sure that every inch of his Sammy came back from wherever he was while he was dead. Dean likes taking it slow, but it's the desperate, proof-of-life kind of sex he's after tonight, so he curls his fingers around the base of Sam's shaft and starts stroking firmly.

Sam moans around his mouthful of Dean's cock, the vibrations sending delicious tingles up Dean's spine. "Shit, _Dean_," he breathes, letting Dean's dick slip out of his mouth and hissing when Dean moves his hand faster.

"Not patient tonight, okay?" Dean warns, lapping at Sam's messy slit.

"Yeah. Okay," Sam answers shakily.

His voice sounds turned on and fucked out but also maybe a little hesitant – Dean can't see his face to gauge his reaction like he normally could; Sam's expressive eyes always betray him even when he's trying to pretend. But he doesn't say anything else, he just quickens his easy pace, wrapping his hand around Dean's cock and moving it quickly up and down, licking around the crown in a wet circle and then sucking it into his mouth. Dean moans at the sensation, and then he gets back to work, drawing Sam back into his mouth as far as he can and bobbing his head. It's incredible, having Sam's hot length in his mouth and his musky scent in his nose at the same time as the most amazing suction on his cock.

Dean momentarily uses just his hand on Sam so he can drop his head down and look through the small amount of space between them. The sight of Sam, upside down in Dean's vision, with his lips spread wide around the cock that's hanging in his face, is probably the hottest thing Dean's ever seen. Dean bucks down into Sam's mouth a little, uncontrollably, and jerks Sam faster – Sam does the same in response. His mouth is wet and hot and if feels so damn _good_ wrapped around Dean's aching erection. He's way too close way too quickly, but he can tell Sam is too, so Dean goes for broke; moving his head back, bobbing up and down faster and sucking a little harder, dragging his index finger through the spit and pre-come mess on his lips and then reaching his hand back to press the pad of his finger against Sam's hole.

He doesn't push in, he just rubs insistently against the little furled muscle and Sam whimpers and tightens his grip on Dean's cock, twisting his wrist as he strokes it and Dean's just done. He lets go, lets himself come in Sam's mouth and tries his level best not to clamp down too hard around Sam's cock as waves of pleasure crash over his body. Less than a minute later Sam comes too, grunting harshly and pulsing in Dean's mouth. Dean lets it land on his tongue and slip down his throat, bittersweet and hot and creamy and so god-damn good. He's been addicted like heroin to Sam's flavor since the very first time he tasted it, so long ago now he barely even remembers it. He keeps his lips wrapped around Sam's twitching cock, sucking down every last drop and then letting his forehead fall down against Sam's hip with a haggard gasp. His lungs can't draw in oxygen fast enough; his heart is pounding and his head is spinning and he wouldn't be surprised if his limbs never worked again, but honestly he wouldn't care. Dean would happily starve to death if it meant he could spend his last hours right here, in a sleepy, sated, satisfied pile of goo with Sam underneath him.

"Fuck." Sam exhales unsteadily, and Dean somehow manages to get himself turned around so he can flop down next to Sam's limp form. He lies there and pants for a minute, and then he rolls into Sam's body, pressing them together with one leg nestled in between Sam's.

Sam props his head up on his elbow and smiles down at him. "Fun?" he asks, grinning cheekily.

"Son of a _bitch_," Dean mutters, laughing deliriously and dragging one lead-filled arm off the bed so he can brush the sweaty bangs out of Sam's eyes. "That was fuckin' awesome. How is it possible we've been sleeping together for almost a decade and we've never done that?"

Sam laughs back, quiet but happy. "Don't know. We're not that smart, I guess."

Dean shakes his head and huffs. "Well we are definitely doing it again. And not just the next time one of us is a gimp."

Sam smiles and kisses him, and then he settles down and rests his head on Dean's chest, gingerly resting his patched-up arm over Dean's stomach.

Dean trails his fingers lightly over the bandage, and says, "If you popped my stitches you're redoin' 'em yourself."

"Yeah, right," Sam snorts. "I totally see that happening."

"Man, I hope we never see her again," Dean mumbles.

"Bela?"

"She's gonna wanna get us back, you know. For destroying the rabbit's foot. And she knows what we look like now, and she knows she can get to one of us through the other, and … fuck, she knows what my baby looks like. We're gonna hafta watch our backs. More than usual."

Dean can _hear_ Sam rolling his eyes. "What, you think she's gonna key your car or something? I feel like she's probably more devious than that."

"Hey, I don't like people with a grudge against us knowin' I have a sweet ride. Can ya blame me? She's gorgeous. And she's our home."

"You're my home," Sam whispers, kissing Dean's neck and snuggling in an extra inch closer.

For a moment, Dean isn't sure how to respond to that. At first it makes him happy, because having Sam like this is everything he's wanted since he was sixteen. He's always wanted to be everything Sam needs, and when Sam left for Stanford, Dean was forced to face the fact that he _wasn't_. That he was inadequate, that Sam needed more than what they had together. It makes him happy to get back to the place where all they have is each other. But then he frowns, the thought that he really is the only thing Sam has in the whole world making him unbearably sad, especially since Sam won't _have_ him for all that much longer. Sam still seems determined to save him but Dean knows he can't, regardless of what that demon says, and it makes his chest ache when he remembers that once his deal is up, Sam really will be all alone.

"Me too, Sammy," he whispers back.


End file.
